


Ahead of Us

by ChariotsChariots



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Baseball, Commonwealth, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, God I don't know what to put how does one post fanfiction what am I doing send help, Grief, Hope, Multi, Murder, Original Character - Freeform, Probably pretentious as fuck, Trauma, chems, original sole survivor, railroad, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChariotsChariots/pseuds/ChariotsChariots
Summary: The holotape stopped, an abrupt click into silence, and he played it again, and again, and again, as he had for the longest time... Such a long time... He needed to hear her voice. Just one last time, he told himself, as the next time became the last, and the time after that, too.But he had to keep moving forward. And he did keep moving forward. Nora was gone - but Shaun... Shaun was still out there, and Nicholas would travel the entire wasteland if it meant finding him.He would do this, when all he wanted to do was leave the world behind him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is uh... My first post I guess? I don't know if I've ever really posted my writing before... At least, not like this. This was originally just sort of... Something that was sitting on my desktop from a few weeks ago that I decided to write more of... I suppose, with that said, here's the first chapter...  
> I honestly have no idea what I'm doing.

“Hey there.”  
The soft dirt beneath her soles caught her feet as she skittered back, a squeak hushing between her dark lips, and her fingers found their way to her face as a laugh grew from within, the hint of a glimmer forming within her brown eyes. “Oh my god, you scared me! Good thing you called out when you did, or I might've tripped over you!”  
A man, pale skin washed out within the shimmering springtime sun whose arms stretched from the westernmost section of the pastel sky, sent a hint of a smile up towards the woman from his seat near the creekside. Mere inches from the toes of his boots, the stream water glimmered as it trickled, warping the light into a mural of green against white. A chuckle escaped his rounded lips as well, but it ran with whispers, hoarse. “Sorry about that, I didn't mean to frighten you.”  
The woman shook her head, her deep brown locks twirling with the movement “Hey, the fault's mine. I can't say I expected to have company out here by the creek, besides maybe a crayfish or two. She gestured towards the ground next to where the man sat. “Mind if I join you?”  
His thick, shapely eyebrows rose, revealing that the purple stain around his tired eyes was not simply a trick of the light. “Go ahead.” He said, moving aside so she would have space to sit between himself and the patch of dark soil in which a number of colorful fungi had taken root.  
As she sat, crossing her smooth, tan legs, her eyes found a glint, noticing the patch of mushrooms. She giggled, murmuring, “You know, they say that places with lots of mushrooms like this have a body buried underneath.”  
Silence spread across the air for a noticeable fraction of a moment before the man furrowed his brow, a slight chuckle floating from his lips. “I... is that the first thing you say to the other people you just meet as well or am I the only one that gets the 'dark humor' treatment?”  
The woman laughed outright, “I'm majoring in law, of course that's how I greet the others!”  
“I'm... not sure I see the connection...”  
“I'm studying to become a lawyer, I'll find one eventually, and when I do, I'll prove it to you.”  
He smiled, a softness seeping into his gray eyes. “Please don't.”  
Thick, dark locks spun as she shook her head, yet another giggle escaping. “Well, either way, I'm Nora. It's a pleasure to meet you.”  
“It's a pleasure to meet you too, Nora.” He responded, “I'm Nicholas.” 

 

“I hope we ain't stoppin' too long. I think I see a storm blowin' this way, and although it's no skin off my back, you smooth skins don't really fare well with high doses of radiation.”  
Nicholas chuckled as he plopped himself down by the riverside, the muscles in his arms falling, losing tension, and he flipped the lid off of a plastic bottle. “Of course it's no skin off your back. You don't have skin.”  
A sigh fell through the ghoul's teeth, and his hairless brow fell. “Yeah, that's why it's you we gotta worry about.”  
“You don't have to worry about me, Hancock. I'll be fine. Just taking a small break, then we'll be moving again.” A sort of clarity rang in Nicholas' tone, and a soft smile grew on his face as he looked up at his ghoulish companion.  
“Eeh... If you say so, but I ain't haulin' ya' back if-”  
“Hey,” He pulled his bag closer and opened the latch, rummaging around the contents before pulling out a red contraption, small, shaped in the same manner as an inhaler, “If I offer you some Jet, will you sit down and stop worrying?”  
“What, do you think I don't got my own Jet? I should probably be the one shilling out the chems arou- Eh, actually, yeah, I will take some Jet... Thanks.” Hancock plucked the applicator from Nicholas' pale fingers and took a seat on the side opposite of the human's bag. Nicholas chuckled, turning back to close said bag before his body fell still, tension returning to his form, the air around him falling cold, particles frozen in time. Sharp clarity seared through his eyes as they stared, unblinking, at the green, unwavering hum that reflected off of the soil and hovered in the air. This singular, glowing mushroom, having taken root at river's edge, whispered words only he could hear, moved in ways that only he could see.  
“Hey, you doin' alright there?” Hancock said, having felt the frigid silence – One that he had heard before. His rough voice formed into a hush as he held the chems out towards the marble-made man. “Here, I er... Think you need this more than I do.”  
As if the atmosphere had shattered, Nicholas shot to attention, turning to face the mayor of Goodneighbor, shoulders brought to his ears, gray eyes wide. “I-” He released a shaky breath upon spotting the offered Jet, hesitating for a split second before holding out a shivering hand. “Y-yeah. Yeah, you're probably right....”  
“Of course I am.” The ghoul responded, a smile spreading where his lips should be as his gaze redirected itself towards the swirling spirals of yellow and green that rolled across the wasteland sky, their direction the one it seemed to be crawling towards. “Seems break time's over.”  
“You're right about that, too.” Nicholas murmured, the edges of radioactive clouds sharpening with a lightning flash, mimicking the clouds that shrouded his eyes.


	2. Winter

Fractals of frost clung to his fingers as he held hers within them, tactile senses numb, unfeeling, but whether this was due to the time spent on ice, or to... Something else... He did not know. His breath, shaking, fell visibly from his lips in swirling puffs, dissipating into the frigid, underground air, losing itself around Nora's frozen form. The rage that had ripped through his veins as he watched from behind glass, useless, as if it were a television screen in front of his eyes instead, had since morphed into pain. This pain that dragged his rib cage into the depths, tearing back like rubber, drew his muscles into carbon, brittle, trembling, moments spent immobile-   
It was so cold.   
Ghastly green light ricocheted from the metallic band on his wife's finger, and Nicholas plucked it off, thoughtless, impulsive, holding it to his chest as images of dark silt, rolling, flashed within his mind.   
“Shaun....” His voice, hoarse and fractured, broke through the atmosphere that sat so still, splinters through glass, and he drew himself to his feet.   
Brainwaves writhed, unprotected, as he waded through faces he knew, bones he did not, decimated by insects, bloated to sizes they should not be, the clicking of chitin against chitin scraping pulses of frost across his spine. Questions ran in circles, fire slicing neurons seen dormant for an amount of time that he had no way of knowing. How long- Did anybody- How many- What happened to- Where is- Where is- Where is-  
The exit.  
Thick, untouched by age, the gear clasped the wall, sealed tight, safe-   
They were supposed to be safe.   
The control panel sat stationary upon the rusting catwalk, and he darted towards it mindlessly, a moth towards flame, but awoke as a clatter arose from the floor and he felt something solid dance around his feet. Hinges worn into nothing, a musty skeletal form lay broken within the deflated stitches of a lap coat, stained brown with decay, long since dry, just like the others, just like -   
The fog washed from his eyes as they locked onto the contraption still clasped to the corpse's arm. A pip boy. Without hesitation he bent down and tore it from what remained of the overseer, spinning it around, inspecting it, before clasping it onto his own wrist.   
A perfect fit.   
With it, the hatch was able to be moved, and the machinery roared to life, pulling the plug from its spot in the wall and rolling it aside, industrial light washing over his corneas as he stumbled forward, where the elevator called.   
Nowhere to go.... But up.

Nowhere to go, Nicholas decided, but forward. 

 

Twisting, gnarled tendrils pressed silhouetted against the bleached sky, black and barren, just like when the calendar reached its end. Inhaling, the air moved sharp, laced with dust, into his lungs, and Nicholas gazed across the landscape.   
Across his home... In which he was now a stranger.   
His home, which was now stranger than he could have ever imagined.   
Like the last months of the year... Before snow would fall and transform the world yet again. His wide soles gliding in sync with her thin ones across the sidewalk, leaf stains on the concrete fading under a chalky sky. Her laughter brought warmth to the wind as she cupped her hand to his cheeks as the cold infected his pale complexion with rogue. It was cute, she had told him, but he knew it couldn't compare to the smile that spread across her lips, dimples forming, radiant, her smooth, tawny skin, the poetry that fell from her mind as she spoke, observations he would never hope to have seen on his own, worlds only in her mind that he desperately wished to visit-   
He was here.   
The path to his house tailed behind him, and before him, pocked with holes, siding glaring with open, orange wounds, home.... Home stared back. 

“As I live and breathe!” A voice, muffled by metal, adjourned with poise, called out to him. “Sir, it's... It's you! It's really you!”   
“... Codsworth!?!”


	3. The Loyalty of Metal Men

_“Codsworth! You're... Still here! Does that mean... That there are people who are still around too?”  
“Why, of course I'm still here! Surely you don't believe a little radiation could deter the pride of General Atomics International, do you? But you... Seem the worse for wear. Better not let the missus see you in that state!... Where... is she, by the way?”_

Nicholas knelt over the river's edge, reflections all but a blur in the murky swirls. His mind swarmed with images of Nora's glittering smile in these same waters, once amorphous glass. The conversation with Codsworth brought the nerves that had been numbed by viewing this strange world that sprawled before him right back up pulling his chest inward and tightening the clamp around his throat. Running into his veins and cooling his blood, he rubbed the water from his cupped hands across his face, stubble scraping coarse across his palms, and his clouded gray eyes stared forward, wandering through air.  
It was just like Anchorage, wasn't it?

_“She's... Oh god... Oh god, they killed her. They killed her!”  
“Sir, these awful things you're saying... You're clearly suffering from hunger-induced paranoia. How about I fix something up for you to eat! I believe a distraction from this dire-mood might be called for as well. Perhaps we can play a family board game... Or charades! Shaun does so love that game. Is the lad... With you?” _

 

Just like Anchorage. The snow still ran with red, frostbitten bodies sunken into powdery clumps, their eyes opened wide, as if the brought some sort of clarity in death, and the mechanical workers still spoke as chipper as they ever had. It wasn't right. The smooth, upbeat voice of the Ms. Nanny that shoved stimpaks into his beaten limbs and wrapped tight the bandage around his eye seared into the images of battle that etched themselves into his mind, the sounds machine gun fire ringing in his ears. The stark contrast seemed... Wrong. 

_“They took him. Codsworth, they took him- Oh god, I have to find him. I have to find him!”  
“I really do believe you require a refreshment. May I get you a cup of coffee, sir? I'm sure that will pick you right up!”_

One scar simply nipped at his chin, almost a gouge, merely an inch or two long. What his fingers found themselves running across was the one that ran across his eye, down his cheek, almost the length of his face. Scar tissue embedded itself within lines of flayed skin, still prominent, radiating a deep magenta atop the pallor of his flesh and the purple that stained it, insomnia's work. It was said it was a miracle that his left eye was left intact – and he had to admit, he was glad this miracle came to him.

 

_“Codsworth... I... Are you... Are you doing alright?”_

 

It was a gamble, asking his robot companion such a thing. Nicholas assumed that the likelihood of Codsworth saying that no, he was not alright, was slim.  
Just like Anchorage.  
Perhaps... It was in their programming. General Atomics probably created their machines to be cheerful and oblivious so that customers wouldn't have to deal with something that felt like another person. There would be no need to console them.  
But... Codsworth was the closest thing to family he had left.

_“Why, yes! Of- of course I- o-oh sir it's been horrible. Just horrible! The... Disaster fell upon us and your family left in such a hurry... I thought for sure you had been-- And there wasn't even a chance to say goodbye. Two centuries with no one to talk to, no one to serve.... I spent the first ten years trying to keep the floors waxed, but nothing gets out nuclear fallout from vinyl wood. Nothing! And don't get me started on the futility of dusting a collapsed house. And- The car! The car! How do you polish rust!?!?”_

There had a been a sort of... relief, that fell over him as he heard his mechanical butler speak truthfully. The honesty seemed to grant the machine... Personhood. And seeing not just an object, but a person in this reality was... It was perhaps the one thing he really needed. 

_“Woah there Codsworth, stay with me buddy. I'm here now, and it's going to be okay. We'll... We'll be okay. But I need you to pay attention. I need your help.”_

 

Two centuries.  
Had the world not healed?  
Droplets dribbled, residual, from the light brown hair that fell like bedsheets, caressed by wind. Reaching forward, he pulled the front back, tying it high, a half ponytail, leaving the rest to cling to the nape of his neck, and as breath floated like haze, he pulled himself to his feet. The crumbling remnants of a bridge, dark wood laced with flowing textures, gifted by time, wavered at his left. Next to it, a statue, stained green, stood strong, faces of men from the age of revolution gazing across the land with pride, as if it were still under their protection.  
Two centuries. 

_“W-wait a moment.. Codsworth... Are you... Two centuries? It's been... 200 years?”  
“A little over two-hundred and ten, if I'm not mistaken. There's always the chance that the old chronometer has taken a few dings.” _

Two centuries. 

_“Codsworth, I-”_

It didn't matter. 

_“Oh, Mr. Nicholas, there is one thing....”_

A holotape. From Nora. 

_“It's a holotape. From the missus. She meant to give it to you. I don't know what it contains. My privacy protocols prevent me from playing it for myself.”_

A sliver of hope.  
From Nora.

_“... Thank-... Thank you, Codsworth.”_

But it would have to wait. Nicholas humored the loyal little bot by following him around the neighborhood in a knowingly futile search for his family. Codsworth still seemed either unaware of the situation at hand, or willingly ignorant about it.  
Nicholas knew everybody had their own ways to cope.  
He also knew, however, that time was running out.  
Concord. Codsworth told him there were people set up in Concord.  
If Concord was where the people were, that's where he would go. 

Standing at the edge of the bridge, Nicholas' gaze traced the cracked and crumbling asphalt on the other side. He checked the pip-boy latched to his arm. He readjusted the pistol in the holster across his waist.  
As a silent sigh slid from his lungs, he walked forward.  
There was nothing for him behind him.  
Only what was ahead.


	4. Other Side of Fire

Lucky.   
He was lucky.   
… And he was selfish.   
It was here where he had heard it for the first time, wasn't it? Bobbing heads and movements like flames, sizzling in and out of existence upon the colorless screen that, even still, stood perched upon the edge of the counter. He almost hadn't noticed when the cashier attempted to hand him the plastic bag, then weighed down by the cans of Cram he had purchased, the garbled words ringing from the newscast drowning out his senses and leaving his thoughts breathless. Dazed, he felt the food in his grasp searing his palms and informing him of his villainy.   
To think it took a trip to the Red Rocket Truck Stop for a couple cans of Cram for him to realize where he stood.   
Or perhaps, he had already realized, and it was only then that he acknowledged it.   
His perfect life – With Nora, with Shaun – Was only an impossible dream among the masses.   
With pressure looming from above, in that time of nuclear fear, lack of wealth had become a capital offense. The government started rationing food, which then caused scarcity, which in turn caused massive spikes in price...   
Prices few could afford.   
Prices that he hadn't even considered until then.   
Riots and protests and tore through the streets and dragged stones across the water's skin, and this couldn't have been new, or surprising.   
But he found it to be.   
Were these reasons because he was more concentrated on himself, on his family, on recovery, than on the world around him? If he had known, if he were able, he would have wanted to help, wouldn't he? Or was it-   
He'd been let from that place years before, binds ripped from his wrists, pulling skin and flesh along with them, placing liberation in his reach which he grasped at, desperate and furious. With that, snow replaced silt and rushing rivers halted. They wouldn't be moving if they remained unseen.   
It was only fair. He, too, liked to remain hidden. 

Sunlight streamed through the shop's shattered windows, illuminating the dancing particles of dust brought up in swirls, and Nicholas only realized that the sound of footsteps against gravel had halted once he was already within the doorway. His eyes darted, scanning the room for supplies – boxed foods, dirty cartons of water, broken child's toys...  
Until they landed on a shadow, growing and morphing across the twisted, shattered tile as a silhouette crawled, slow and curious, into the doorway that stood across from him.   
Was that... a dog?   
Nicholas stepped forward, tentative, his movements silent and light, further into the building, squinting in an attempt to persuade his eyes to adjust just the smallest bit quicker...   
The creature barked and, without hesitation, bounded over to the man, jovial and confident. Nicholas couldn't help but break a smile, and the storm cleared from his eyes as a laugh of surprise burst from his lips.   
“Hey boy!” he said, bending down and petting the dog between its pointed ears, some color returning to the man's face, “Where's your owner? Are you all alone out here?”   
This mutt yapped in response as Nicholas pulled himself to his feet, another chuckle emerging. “I don't know what that means, but you can come with me if you want! I'm sure I could use the company.” Another bark was all that the man needed to hear. “I'll gather some supplies and we'll be on our way.” 

 

Back again.   
They had reached Concord, but he'd gone back.   
He'd gone back again.

“Show yourself, asshole!”

Show yourself.   
He knew better than to show himself.   
The pistol locked within his fingers in the same way the teeth upon gears interlaced, the cold brick against his neck mimicking the winter wind that would tear across his flesh. 

“Only a coward hides!” 

Twitching and frantic, his eyes ran across building's crumbling edges and the remnants of streets, mapping the landscape, placing the players, his mind tumbling as his body remained undetectable. Movements were immediate, thoughtless, as if he-   
Back again.   
A threat. Shells echoed bells as they bounced across the pavement, the enemy's growl forming the tune's ambiance. Red fire, red screams, illuminating snow clad mist – the image burned across Nicholas' vision – 

“I know you're out th –!” 

Surprise hit the enemy over the head as Nicholas hit him with a bullet, blood – red – bubbling over from the neck, pulsating, and life tore from his body as the color faded from his flesh. As he collapsed, the dog trotted over from where the bodies he had helped maul lay, and Nicholas drew himself to his feet to greet him. 

“H-hey boy. I... I don't think these people will help us –“ He began to say before he heard another voice echo from above, and on impulse, he spun around, pistol clenched within both hands, but the desperation laced within the words brought him to hesitate. 

“Hey, you! Up here, on the balcony! Please – !” A man stood atop the building in the middle of the square, a strange energy weapon tightly wound in his nervous grasp, but despite the fear that was quite obviously present, a sort of confidence radiated from him. A strange man, it seemed, dressed in clothes that Nicholas could easily see within a painting of Revolutionary War soldiers, but he was the only person he had met so far that hadn't attacked him outright. “We have settlers in here, but the raiders are already inside! Please, help us!” 

Shaking the haze from his mind, Nicholas blurted out a response. “Don't worry! I'm on my way, just hold tight!” and with that, he jumped to action. 

The man on the balcony nodded, quick and precise, and turned halfway to return inside, but stalled. His eyes swarmed with smooth strokes of a deep brown as he gazed into the distance, wandering for only a second, before he opened the door and left Nicholas' sight.   
As if it were still under their protection.


	5. First Death Second Deceit

Muffled voices from centuries past, mimicking those from centuries before, ran discordant with gunshots and the echoing booms brought about by the energy weapon wielded by the man from the balcony outdoors, now aiming at the raiders inside from above. Nicholas found it exceedingly easy to blend in within the mannequins, no bandit even thinking to search across the multitudes of glassy-eyed stares lest a pair of those from the living were to linger amongst them. Only the echo of an unsilenced 10mm pistol dragged their attention towards the fact that whatever creature was felling their fellows was more than a spectre of shadow. Even as his gunshots rang, scattered, crawling upwards, Nicholas remained unseen, and it was only after a minute of silence loomed thick around him that the man in the strange garb beckoned, almost pleaded, him to hurry and enter the room in which the settlers had locked themselves before more raiders returned.  
“Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing’s impeccable.” The odd man said, holding out his hand as Nicholas shut the door, peeling paint trembling. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”   
Nicholas shook Garvey’s hand without hesitation. “Hey, I'm happy to help.” He said, flashing a soft, friendly smile and glancing around the room at the others present. None armed, it seemed, at least not as Preston was, exhaustion hovering about them like steam, fear searing across their faces like ice.   
“If that's the case, we could use some more goodwill.” Preston said, glancing at the settlers for a moment before turning his attention back towards Nicholas. “As you can see, we’re in a bit of a mess here.”   
The dog trotted up behind Nicholas, and he bent down to scratch the creature behind the ears, grey eyes still focused up towards Preston. “Just tell me what you need, and I’m on it.” He gave the room one more once-over before getting to his feet and speaking to the other inhabitants, smiling. “I'll help you however you need, but it would be nice to know who you all are first.”   
“These are just folks looking for a new home. A fresh start.” Preston said, a sort of fondness radiating from his dark eyes before a somber aura overtook them “I've been with them since Quincy. Lexington looked good for awhile but the ghouls drove us outta there…” his voice softened “...A month ago, there were twenty of us. Yesterday, there were eight… Now we’re five.” He spun into brief introductions, gesturing towards himself first, “It's just me, the Longs, Marcy and Jun-”   
Nicholas glanced towards the others, attempting to connect names to faces. He would assume the Longs were the couple, the woman, presumably Marcy, holding herself tense as her spine curled inward, pacing back and forth and dribbling angry mutterings, and the man, Jun, huddled beside a desk, trembling as his glassy eyes stood still, glued to the floor.   
“-That’s old Mama Murphy on the couch-”   
An elderly woman with milky blue eyes gazed forward as if in a haze, hair tied up in a wrap, large, mismatched earrings clinking as she shifted her stare, smiling at Nicholas, who returned the expression.   
“-And this here is Sturges.”   
The man at the terminal was all there was left, clad in scuffed up overalls and heavy sideburns, typing furiously and muttering to himself before pausing and offering a twangy “Hey!” In response to the newcomer, then returning to his work.  
“Hey, Sturges.” Nicholas said with a slight chuckle, reverting his focus to Preston, “Ghouls…What are ghouls?”   
Garvey’s eyes widened slightly, and subtle concerned washed over his face. “Wow, you really aren't from around here, are you?” He set his end musket on the floor as he furrowed his brow, sifting through his thoughts to find the right words. “Ghouls are… Irradiated people. Most are just like you and me. They look pretty messed up, and they live for a long time, but they're still just people. The ones I'm talking about are different. The radiation’s rotted their brains, made them feral. They'll rip you apart just as soon as look at you.” He sighed, pulling his weapon into his arms again. “Anyway, we figured Concord would be a safe place to settle, but those raiders proved us wrong. But.. Well, we do have one idea.”   
Nicholas’ face lit up “One good idea can make all the difference.”   
Preston looked over towards the tinkerer at the terminal. “Sturges, tell ‘em.”   
Sturges turned and leaned against the desk, pressing his palms into the edge. “There’s a crash’ vertibird up on the roof. Old school. Pre-war. You mighta seen it. Well, it looks as if oneuh it's passengers left behind a seriously sweet goodie. We’re talkin’ a full suita cherry, T-45 power armor, military issue.” 

He wasn't supposed to be there.   
It wasn't his job.   
Even through the metal casings and mechanical joints, the cold seeped into his skin, draining into his veins and sending a new chill with every heartbeat. The men and women around him radiated fear as the vehicle jostled them around, their armor clanking like idle murmurs. He may very well have been more frightened than even them. He had been older, more experienced. He’d gone through power armor training.  
But that had been a long time before.   
And this. Wasn’t. His. Job.   
Wheels shrieked to a stop and the sunlight on the snow top flooded his vision with white-   
And as he stepped onto the field, his mind whispered to him, reminding him that if he didn't hide now, he would die.   
But he couldn't hide.  
And spite dictated that there was no way he would end up dead. 

Nicholas chuckled. “I like it.”  
“I thought you might.” Sturges replied, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “Get the suit, and you can rip the minigun right off the vertibird. Do that, and those raiders get an express ticket ta Hell, ya dig?” 

A pistol had fit into his hands seamlessly. Add a silencer, and it would take a bloodhound to sniff out his location. If someone needed to be taken out, if he needed to defend himself or civilians, they wouldn't even realize their death was close until they were laying on the ground with a bullet through their head. It was efficient. It was what he was good at. It was his job.   
Clasped in his arms then, however, a large energy weapon, heavy, bulky, loud. That's what they used on the front lines, so that's the weapon they decided to give him.   
They had looked him in the eye as they handed it him. Looked him in the eye knowing they were likely sending him out to his death in unfamiliar territory with an unfamiliar weapon.   
In shoes that weren't his.  
Red beams rattled in succession as red-coded soldiers fell in red-stained snow.   
The man who had stood next to him during the funeral procession toppled to the ground in front of him, lifeless, porcelain eyes staring at the sun with a bloodstained expression of terror. Betrayal. Man against man.  
It was not his job to blast the enemy to bits.   
And it was not his job to outlive those who deserved this life more than he. 

“Minigun? Now we’re talking.” He said with a grin.  
His blood had been screeching through his veins, unwilling to stop as the discussion of power armor continued.   
“There jus’ one problem. The suit is outta juice. We need an ol’ pre-war FC to get it up an’ workin’ again.” Sturges began to say before Nicholas pulled something from his bag and tossed it into the air, catching it without even glancing at its location within the spin. He held it out, clasped casually in his palm, the fusion core from down below. A glint trickled into his eyes as he flashed another smile.   
“This what you're looking for?”  
“Yes! Exactly!” Sturges’ face lit up.   
“The raiders are sure to return any moment now-” Preston began to say, and Nicholas nodded, sharp and quick as he darted towards the stairs to the roof. “-Good luck!” The minuteman called after him.   
Nicholas knew it would take more than luck to help him.


	6. None Better Suited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeyy it's 5 AM and I can't sleep, which is typical but I'm still exhausted, so if this is more awful than everything else I write blame it on sleep deprivation okay thanks

_“No. They're fucking civilians. You can take your paranoia and shove it.”_

As gunshots had brought him into the stupor, it was the nuzzling of the dog’s nose against his fingers that pulled him back. Below him, darting across the bleached and shattered asphalt, raiders called out, battle cries of intimidation and cowardice. 

_“You're a fucking coward, O’Brien. That's what this is really about, isn't it? You're just a fucking coward.”_

The fusion core slid into the slot with a heavy clink, and the back dismantled, inviting him quicker into the fate he feared was inevitable. He could just take out these raiders as he had before, couldn't he?  
They knew better than he what he would be up against. They lived as veterans of this wasteland, and it was only he who remained within the clutches of the unknown. 

_“Am I the coward? Am I really? When you're the one ordering the death of civilians? Fuck off, you're frightened because of the amount of ‘unknowns.’ This isn't my fucking job. I'm not a headsman.”  
“Nicholas, you were given an order. To disobey would be insubordination.”_

As the cage closed behind him, and he could feel the cold slither through the cracks. A blur, as he ripped the minigun from where it had perched for centuries, vision bleeding, muscles taking over while his mind fluttered into a haze. Heartbeat shuttered as rocks rained, the power armor slamming its soles against the trembling ground, landing heavy.  
Simultaneously, he froze, and opened fire.

 _“Not my job.”_  
_“Get your ass back here, O’Brien! I am a senior officer, and I'm telling you that now this is your fucking job!”_  
“...”  
_“You're a fucking coward, Nicholas O’Brien! You can hide now, but someday you won't be able. See how well you can bullshit your way outta that. You're a fucking coward, Nicholas. A fucking coward.”_

Limbs littered the streets amongst masses of lead lined flesh, thick dark blood drooling into every crevice, but still they advanced.  
And still he was no longer sentient. 

Preston’s laser musket echoed in deep tones as he joined the defense, the dog ahead of them both, adding broken bone and snapped sinew to the pulsating piles of meat.  
Even his breathing danced with winter, as he was convinced the interior of his helmet crawled with frost. Or perhaps it was the inside of his skull. Colors had melted like wax, synapses had splintered, a network of anxiety taking over where his nervous system had failed, and though his movements were his, they were not his own. 

The signal was back, having returned when the a hollow cry lacerated across the atmosphere, Nicholas jolting away as something he could only describe as a monster charged into view, rendering the remainder of the raiders into what could only result in a closed-casket funeral. Twisted, gnarled horns adjourned the face of the ginormous creature, whose predatory glare fixated upon Nicholas with beady red eyes, strings of flesh dangling from its bloodied maw, twisting as it shot around.  
Nicholas couldn't tell if his heart had grown faster or neglected to beat entirely, but he emptied a round into the monster regardless. In mere moments, the same few thoughts spiraled around his head on repeat, sickly fingers pushing them further inside, rendering him immobile. The beating of the gun stopped leaving the man only with silence and internal static to compliment what he assumed to be his demise as the creature charged at him.  
Air from his lungs ripped through his throat and left his chest empty, desperation slipping into his eyes as his teeth clawed for breath, staring straight into the face of beast, its eyes ravenous and livid as it looked him down, its fangs mere inches from his helmet. Incessant beeping from the damaged suit screeched along with the thoughts that refused to slow, that refused to change. The monster reared back.  
The end this was the end this was the end this was the end this was the end this was the end this was - 

The end to this fucking nightmare.

There was a loud echoing boom and the beast fell back and tumbled, limp, eyes that had once only held bloodlust now glassy as the beam from Preston’s musket seared through its thick neck.

The suit burst open, and Nicholas scrambled out, frantic, gasping for air, warmth enveloping him. On a motor, on an automated path, he darted into an alley and crawled into the shadow it cast, his breaths shallow and frequent, trembling hands ripping through the contents of his bag to find something - _anything_ \- that would make it _stop_. Make the fear stop. Make his mind stop. Just for a moment he only needed a moment just-  
His fingers fumbled around a canister of Jet he had plucked off one of the raiders, and despite not even having seen the drug before, he inhaled it all at once, the effects hitting him within seconds.  
Perhaps he only got a moment. A moment of internal silence. A moment of calm. His vision grew feathery, his muscles relaxed.  
Perhaps he only got a moment.  
But it was a moment that lasted.  
And it was all that he needed.


End file.
